


sunday

by kittenscully



Series: fictober 2020 [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Season/Series 07, season of secret sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: He would sleep in with her till noon, till early evening, if that’s what she wanted. He would pull the blankets higher, cocoon her in his arms, and never even think of leaving.[fictober day 3]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: fictober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467
Comments: 6
Kudos: 100





	sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You better leave now."

When he wakes, it's to the gentle vibrations of Scully snoring on top of him. 

The covers are pulled up to his neck, over her head rested just there on his chest. All of her save for a single strand of hair is tucked safely beneath the sheets, her small hand curling around his ribs and her leg pinning both of his to the bed. 

Outside, the sky peeking through her heavy curtains is the kind of vibrant blue that coaxes you to lay beneath it, staring up into the bright vastness until it swallows you whole. 

Inside, though, Mulder’s got the only person that matters snuggled up against him. The truth, the answer, his very own Bonnie Parker, Andromeda, Boudiccea, Lois Lane. The whole world condensed down into one tiny frame, earth and sea and mystery, ever-changing and mischievous. A force of nature, mumbling faintly in her sleep.

He’d rather be laying beneath her than any sky, any day. 

According to the alarm clock on the side table, it’s 10:06 A.M. Faintly, he remembers catching a glimpse of it as it read 5:33 A.M., starting to stretch but being nudged back into place by sleepy hands. 

These days, he can’t deny her anything.

And Mulder’s never been any good at sleeping in, but there’s something about doing it with her that feels different. Something about her bed that makes him want to burrow under the covers, a safe nest for the two of them. Her soft little breasts rising and falling steadily against his stomach, her face buried in his chest. Her spine warm and defined under his palm.

He would sleep in with her till noon, till early evening, if that’s what she wanted. He would pull the blankets higher, cocoon her in his arms, and never even think of leaving. Kiss her open-mouthed and lazy in the warm darkness, explore her blindly, push his face into her skin and breathe her in. 

He’s sure, now, that nothing out there that matters more than her. No point, really, to emerging from their own little bubble. 

But it’s a Sunday. And any moment now, she’ll be getting up to leave for 11 o’clock Mass. 

He pinpoints the exact moment when she starts to stir, pleasantly surprised at the familiarity of the feeling. Her fingers digging into his side, then stretching. A small, displeased sound from her throat as she turns her head, her other cheek squishing against him. 

Now that she’s marginally awake, there’s nothing to stop him from reaching up to stroke her hair, smoothing down the fuzziness of the strands under the covers. 

“Mmm,” she says. Pushes back against his hand.

“Mornin’,” he tells her, and she raises her head, the blankets lifting with her as she peers up at him. 

Scully never talks right after waking up. Speech takes a little while to come back to her, the last facility to be rediscovered after rejoining the world of the living. The corners of her bleary eyes crinkle with affection, and he spots a hint of a smile on her plump mouth before she collapses back against his chest, kissing the spot to the right of his nipple sleepily. 

“It’s a little past ten,” he murmurs, because he knows she’s wondering. He pushes the covers back so he can see her responding pout as she makes every effort to cuddle even closer in protest. 

And that’s the miracle of it, the thing that really gets him. Not that she’s into him, not that she’ll let him call her _baby_ when she’s softened up enough. Not even that she seems to want to be his. Those things have been hard to believe, sure, but he thinks he’s managing it.

No, it’s the way that she never wants to leave. The way that she can’t get enough of him, never getting bored, never turning her back with a sigh. The way that she sleeps as close as possible, limbs wound around him, secure as a sailor’s knot. The way she protests separation of any kind, lingering by the door for one last kiss, then another, and another, until the plans have changed and she isn’t going back to her place after all. 

The way she makes faces like a little kid at the notion of leaving for church, stubbornly burrowing into his body as if he can hide her away from her all-knowing, all-seeing God. 

And even though she keeps finding new ways to show him, believing that she really likes him so much that she never gets tired of him seems as impossible as believing in that God. 

“You’ll get grumpy if you don’t leave yourself time to shower,” Mulder reminds her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Mmph,” she says, by way of reply.

Even though she’s his whole world, his Aphrodite, Caroline Hampton, Ophelia, Maria and Juliet, she’s still Catholic, too. He doesn’t want to be responsible for her guilt. 

“C’mon, I’ll get up with you,” he says. It’s an awkward angle, but he lifts his head, tilts his chin so he can press a kiss to her forehead. “Join you in the shower to keep you moving. Put on some coffee while you get ready.”

There’s a long sigh, her foot curling underneath his calf. 

Last night, he’d scooped her up to carry her to bed, called her _honey_ and watched her cheeks go pink. It’d seemed such a fitting pet name, with the sweet little twist of her mouth and the slow, lingering kiss she’d pulled him into.

“Mul’er,” she mumbles. 

“Honey.” He rubs her shoulders. Smiles despite himself, unreasonably delighted that the first thing she’s said today is his name.

He can’t believe he’s coaxing her out of bed instead of into it. But that’s the difference, he realizes, between love and obsession. Obsession only serves itself, but love serves the thing that it cloaks, like the blankets wreathing them in warmth. 

“Okay,” Scully concedes finally, still not moving. He feels her yawn, and her voice is thick with sleep. “But. No funny business.” 

“On a Sunday morning? I would never.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re a woman of God, Scully,” he says solemnly, as if he hadn’t almost made her late last Sunday with the exact kind of funny business she’s trying to avoid. “I know better. I swear.”

She snorts, stretches up to clumsily kiss his collarbone, and Mulder can’t resist wrapping both arms around her, squeezing her tight to his chest. 

“You better leave now,” he warns her. “Or else I’m going to start finding it very hard to keep that promise.”

That gets him an outright giggle, high and girlish. She squirms in his grasp, propping herself up with elbows on his shoulders and planting a chaste kiss on his mouth, one hand laid on either side of his face. 

“On second thought, I think I might’ve made a mistake when I told you to get up,” he informs her, wondering if maybe love is also a little selfish after all. He’s suddenly very sure that causing her Catholic guilt would be entirely worth it. “Can I take that back?”

“Too late,” she says. 

And then she’s rolling off of him and padding sleepily towards her bathroom as he groans.

**Author's Note:**

> All my fictober stuff as well as the prompt list I'm using can be found on my tumblr @kittenscully!


End file.
